Today I ran in the 3 Mile Smile in Cleveland Heights. I managed to control my obsession with round numbers and cross the finish line in 24:59. A new personal best! So far I'm two-for-two in 5Ks in terms of both crossing the finish line and (more importantly) getting the t-shirt.

I got to do that thing where you grab the cup from the water station, take a couple sips, and then dump the remainder over your head. That's my favorite part of the racing. My least favorite part came when I had reached the top of the hill on Cedar between Fairmount and Coventry, my heart pounding, my breathing raspy, and I get passed by some guy pushing a baby stroller. The runner next to me turned to me and said, "Don't you just hate it when that happens?"

I didn't win any prizes, in either the race or the raffle, but I got the t-shirt and the satisfaction. After the race, one of the race sponsors had arranged with the bar hosting the award ceremony to open up the taps with complimentary draft beer. Now that's something I had never suspected I'd need as a runner: a designated driver.
I ran in my first 5K today. I expected, based on past treadmill performances, to finish in thirty to thirty-two minutes, so I surprised myself by finishing at 26:30 -- and it is a tribute to the strength of my slight tendency towards Asperger's that even as exhausted as I was, I sprinted the last fifteen or twenty feet before the finish line so I could end on a round number. They (no Google citation for "they") say to run the first third of a race with your brain, the second with your legs, and the last third with your heart; well, by the time I'd gotten two-thirds done, both my brain and my legs were spongy soft jelly spilling out across the course. They had volunteers manning stopwatches at each mile marker, and based on my times in each third, my heart is a lot further behind both my brain and my legs. It probably didn't help that the course went right by the local Ben & Jerry's.

Still, despite running low on gas in that third mile, I'm very happy with my time. I was, however, still to be disappointed. The organizers of the race were awarding plaques to the top three finishers in each age group, and while there were no males in the 20-24 group, two in the 25-29 group, and just one between thirty-five and thirty-nine, there were, I can attest, at least four in my age group. Which is probably for the best. I figured, just after the second mile marker, that right now I must be in my peak physical condition, or at least one of the more desirable Nielsen demographics, and it's all downhill from there. And had the course in fact been all downhill from that mile marker, I might have finished in 26 minutes!
We scheduled the meet with [ profile] atpolittlebit and [ profile] ladyhelix for last Saturday without realizing that it would be the third game of the Cavaliers-Pistons series. As Cleveland had looked hapless against Detroit, getting blown out in the first game and being dominated in the second, I wasn't too put out about that, but I did resolve to keep an eye on the tv at PF Chang's. Well, the best laid plans and all that and I managed to drink much of a bottle of champagne and forget about the game until the next morning, when I was surprised to discover that Cleveland had won. Monday, before game four, we had packed and turned in the cable converters, and I had been too tired and dirty to feel up to go anywhere that might show the game. Again, the Cavs won. Wednesday was spent unpacking in Memphis, where my mother as yet does not have cable, and having been separated from the internet and television since Monday, I hadn't even known there was a game scheduled. Cleveland was again victorious. So that had been three straight games I hadn't watched, and three straight wins.

I'm not superstitious, but I still don't have cable, so I spent much of last night following the game on's live scoreboard. This was frustrating to say the least, especially when it their computer kept rolling the Cav's score between 59 and 61 between the third and fourth quarters, undecided as to whether or not Flip Murray's final shot had gone in. But it was involving enough that I could be heard vociferously swearing as action was reported to me in the style and at the speed of the telegram. Well, with the game tight and three and a half minutes to go in the fourth, I had had enough of that, and decided that I would walk up to this bar I'd seen earlier and see if they were showing the game. I arrived with 1.4 seconds: Cleveland was down two with LeBron on the foul line; he'd just made his first free throw and had to intentionally miss his second. Zydrunas Ilgauskas got the rebound but couldn't sink his shot for the tie. I managed to see just enough of the game for the Cavaliers to lose.

As I say, I'm not superstitious, but it's probably no coincidence that I'd planned to spend tomorrow between 3:30 and six Eastern time down at the Delta Blues Museum in Clarksdale, Mississippi. Unfortunately, they have the temerity to be closed on Sundays, and I'm now in great danger of further testing my apophenia and dooming the Cavaliers.
Thank you, Damon Jones, for ending this game, this series, and my adventures with high blood pressure.
Not only is the cause of LeBron James's pulled left pectoral curious, so is his language:
Afterward, reporters were trying to gauge the seriousness of his injury. Asked whether he was 75 percent, James said, "I'm nowhere near close to playing live basketball right now."
Live basketball: it's not only a retronym as yet untracked by William Safire, it's another celebrity endorsement for the Xbox 360.
In honor of the Final Four, I thought I'd repeat a comment I discovered while trawling (which means the same thing as "trolling" in fishing but not in LiveJournal) through [ profile] dlgood's archives.
During S5, Cordelia is either unconscious or dead. So she doesn't enter the office pool.

Way back in BtVS3, these are the schools she got into: USC, Colorado State, Duke, and Columbia.

Cordy, all incarnations of her, would have taken Duke. And would be fully convinced of how wonderful Duke and Coach K are.
I completely agree with this, though my perspective is 180 degrees askew from [ profile] dlgood's -- I don't think he likes Cordelia much, and I know he hates Duke. I am reminded that during the first few seasons of Buffy, I thought that Cordelia's subconscious perceptiveness was so great that I had some hopes the spinoff would be called "Cordelia Chase, Psychic Fashion Detective." Cordy would be a Columbia undergraduate by day, and would solve crimes and fight against poorly attired demons on the catwalks and in the sweatshops of Manhattan at night. She would be assisted in this by Angel, who, having moved to the West Village and immersed himself in the galleries and boutiques south of Houston, was discovering his inner fabulousness -- which is about the only characterization in which my scenario did not diverge too greatly from David Greenwalt's.

[ profile] dlgood's comment also reminds me that Cordelia's list of acceptances was my strongest piece of evidence that Mutant Enemy was stalking me: I attended Columbia, my parents met at Duke, I once spent a week at Colorado State for an Order of the Arrow conference, and USC are letters I use almost every day.
I love my mini-kerfluffle with the Sviolin family! There's a slight possibility that I might be macho!
From, in rough order of appearence on my friends list, [ profile] gehayi, [ profile] scrollgirl and [ profile] londonkds: do I believe . . .  )
I watched (or listened to) most of the halftime show, but must admit that I didn't see Janet Jackson's breast. I just wasn't paying attention. I don't suppose I'll ever have that chance again. Just like the Britney/Madonna/Christina Aguilera kiss, it's gone into the sinkhole of live television, never to be seen.

What's that? I have seventy cable channels? I have CNBC, which will be showing it every five minutes for the next week?

Enh. Watching CNBC makes me itchy.

My basic thoughts during the halftime show went more along the lines of, "Puff Daddy and Nelly are on the same stage and they're not singing 'Shake a Tailfeather'? Don't they understand marketing?"

At this point, I'm all about the Grammys. I had heard that OutKast would be performing a "tribute to funk," but now I have the expectation that Prince and Earth Wind & Fire will show up too.

Oh, and I feel that if a team wins the Superbowl because of a field goal, they should be allowed to accept the Vince Lombardi trophy, but they have to attend the presentation wearing dresses.



April 2009

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